


Take My Breath, There's Nothing I Wouldn't Give

by throwupsparkles



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Bullets Era, Established Relationship (sorta), Hospital, M/M, Major Character Injury, Return Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles
Summary: Frank kisses him back, pulls him in closer like he can devour him, keep Gerard with him forever where he can wake up every morning with his stupid bony knees pressed against his back. Where all their bathroom towels are stained with his hair dye and the bathroom is cluttered with cosmetics scattered across the vanity. He wants all their mugs to have rings of coffee stains in them, to have their house to smell perpetually like cigarette smoke.********Or, the one where Frank is in a coma and thinks he's living in Bullets Era.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 37
Kudos: 134





	Take My Breath, There's Nothing I Wouldn't Give

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Millstone by Brand New

Frank knows there’s something off the moment he climbs out of the van. 

It’s not really a deja vu feeling, but it’s something similar for sure. And, in a way, he _has_ been here before. There’s nothing all that new about falling out of a van with cramped legs that have been folded against instruments and sweaty boys all day, but something feels off. 

If he had to pinpoint it, it almost feels like he shouldn’t even be here. Not like he has something better to do, but like he’s not _supposed_ to be here. And that fucking hurts. Frank had thought he’d gotten past the fact that he was playing in his favorite band. Thought he had finally talked to himself enough in the mirror that he started to believe the chants he cycled through in grimy bar bathrooms before each show, the “you deserve this” and “you’re a great guitar player” and sometimes even “they’re lucky to have you” if it’s a particularly rough night. But that almost doesn’t feel right either, and it’s got Frank’s stomach in knots. 

“You ok, Frankie?” Gerard asks, his voice small and timid and it clicks something into play inside of Frank’s mind, only he’s not exactly sure what he’s unlocked yet. All he knows is, _Gee_. Because no matter what, there’s always something so comforting, something so safe about Gerard that Frank falls into step with him so that he can wrap an arm around his shoulders and say, “I’m fine”

Gerard looks at him out the corner of his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. And Frank’s glad. It’s not that he and Gerard haven’t shared enough before, it’s just that usually it involves alcohol. Frank follows Ray and Mikey into the VFW they’re playing in tonight, wrinkling his nose at the heavy smell of musk and damp wooden panels. His shoes squeak on the linoleum and he sighs sadly when he sees that they’re not even getting a stage tonight. 

“So, right here,” the guy who has opened up for them to set up says, gesturing to the front of the room, “let me know if you need anything.”

Ray smiles widely and shakes the guy’s hand before turning back to the rest of them and sighing. “I guess let’s unload.”

“Coffee,” Mikey croaks, taking his glasses off and rubbing at his eyes. 

Gerard nods enthusiastically. 

“We can unload quickly,” Ray tries, “ _then_ get coffee.”

Frank watches with an amused grin as Mikey and Gerard have a silent conversation with their eyebrows then Mikey sighs and says, “Fine.”

They have gotten a bit faster at unloading now, even with Frank and Gerard’s cigarette break and Otter complaining every second. But soon enough he’s walking off with Gerard with everyone’s money and coffee orders. They’re somewhere still on the east coast, it has that same grimey ocean smell, but he’s not exactly sure what city they’re in. It all is starting to blur together even though he told himself to remember these moments, no matter how miniscule they might seem, he knows they’re going to be the ones he looks back on when he’s old and boring. 

Gerard’s hand slides into Frank’s and he only has a moment to grin before he’s being pulled into an alley and pressed up against a building. “Been waiting all day,” Gerard whispers before his lips descend on Frank’s. 

Frank instantly grips Gerard’s sweat damp t-shirt and pulls him closed, licks at the lingering nicotine coating his tongue and lets out a relieved sigh. Because this feels right. No matter what’s going on with him today, he knows this is right. 

But there’s something buzzing under his skin. Like panic almost. As if there’s some part of him that knows this isn’t going to last. That the sweet little breathy gasps against his lips are going to end one day and this is temporary. 

Frank wraps his arms around Gerard and holds him closer, kissing him fiercer. Gerard runs with it for a moment before placing his hand on the side of his face and pulls away. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

Frank’s gasping a little, his head spinning and it feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest to latch onto Gerard and never let go. He leans into Gerard, breathing in the sour sweat rolling off his neck, and lets out a long breath. “I don’t know,” he whispers. 

Gerard makes a small sound in the back of his throat and wraps his hand around the back of Frank’s neck, rubbing gently. He knows how this looks. Like he’s getting in way over his head. Because while they’re still playing VFW halls, they’re starting to get noticed. Their shows are getting bigger and more kids stick around to talk to them like they matter. And hearing kids talking about how much their music means to them, that Frank’s somehow inspired someone to pick up a guitar, makes his stomach flip. But it also makes his heart swell in size. Makes him feel like he’s glowing and that his goofy grin is going to stretch his face into this stupid expression for the rest of his life--which he would totally be down for. 

“You want to talk about it?” Gerard murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to his hair. 

“I…” but he trails off because he doesn’t even know what’s going on.

“Homesick?” Gerard asks, “Because sometimes me and Mikey miss being at home. Maybe me more so than Mikey.”

Frank grins against Gerard’s throat then looks up and presses a kiss to his jaw. “No, I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s just a funky day.”

Gerard pulls back enough so that he can look down at Frank. “Anything I can do to help?”

Frank rubs the fabric of Gerard’s shirt between his fingers, trying to find something to tether him here. Something that will make him settle in his bones and shake off this awful feeling. He tugs on Gerard’s shirt and smirks up at Gerard, trying to just power through.

Gerard looks a little unsure still, but he smiles anyway and presses a sweet kiss to Frank’s waiting lips. 

*

Frank stumbles into the bathroom and leans against the vanity, taking a few deep breaths before turning on the facet and splashing cold water on his face. 

He knows that he’s got only a few minutes alone before one of the guys come barreling in after that performance. Frank thought he had everything under control, or, he’s never in control really on stage, but he thought that he’d be able to push down whatever was wrong deep down so that he could get through the set. But there was something so gut wrenching about hearing “Skylines and Turnstiles” tonight. There’s always something visceral that washes over him when he hears that song, ever since he heard it leak through his headphones when he listened to the attic demos.

Tonight was different. Tonight the lyrics felt like razor blades slicing him open and pouring his guts out on the stage for Gerard to dance over. He felt like Gerard was torturing him, that he was dangling this “could have been” in his face for him to brush his fingers against only for him to feel it slip from his fingertips. And it doesn’t make sense because he _has_ Gerard. He had him pressed up against a building just this afternoon, but it feels like this isn’t real at all. 

And he’s not sure how to handle that. 

He looks up in the mirror and takes in his pale face, the redness of his eyes from the tears because he had fucking cried on stage tonight. And not a “shed a few tears because this is fucking intense” kind that all of them have fallen guilty to, but full on sobbing. They had stopped in the middle of the second verse because Frank had turned his back to the crowd and let out a pitiful sob. 

Mikey was the closest to him and pressed his hand to his back. “Feeling sick?” 

Frank had just nodded because it was the easiest out. The best way to get them to power through then let Frank dart to the bathroom. 

Only now they’re worried and he knows Gerard is only going to give him privacy for a moment. So, he looks back down at the running water to scoop up water into his hands and take a few mouthfuls. 

“Frankie, you’ve got to pull through,” he hears Gerard whisper. 

Frank sighs, because he hadn’t even heard him come in. He turns and then furrows his brows in confusion when he doesn’t see anyone in the small room with him. 

“I can’t...Frank, please.”

Frank turns back around because--and he knows this is crazy--it sounds like Gerard’s voice is coming from _behind_ him. And then he stumbles back because he sees Gerard in the mirror. Only it’s not the Gerard he left on stage just a few moments ago. This Gerard is definitely older though he hardly looks it in the face. There’s still a pinkish blush on his rounded cheeks, still a wondrous spark of light in his eyes. But it’s hardened, and his lips are pulled downward, His hair is long and greying, stringy and unkempt which isn’t that surprising. Though what is surprising is the beard--what the fuck? His Gerard couldn’t grow peach fuzz if someone paid him. 

“Gerard?” Frank asks tentatively, eyes darting around the bathroom before looking back at the mirror.

Mirror Gerard sighs and hunches over, his hands out of view and clearly hanging on to something. Frank swallows thickly when he feels his hands being enveloped in warm pressure. 

Frank’s about to say something else when the bathroom door opens and his Gerard walks in with his hands on his hips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick earlier? We could have canceled the show,” he demands. 

Frank looks at him, then back at the mirror.

But he’s just looking at himself now. 

*

He’s almost scared to go to sleep.

Frank isn’t sure how these things work and if maybe he’s just going crazy. Maybe he really is sick and he’s having one of those feverish dreams that make him feel like the Earth is spinning too quickly. But Gerard makes him put on a hoodie then bundles him up in blankets before pressing him down into the backseat with a no-nonsense look that always makes Frank crack up. Only not tonight. Tonight he reaches out for Gerard’s hand and pulls him down to lay with him. 

“You don’t feel like you have a fever,” Gerard notes softly, running the back of his hand against Frank’s forehead, then he presses his hand gently to his stomach. “Tummy issues?”

Frank wants to snort at the fact that Gerard still uses words like “tummy”, but he’s too overcome by conflicting emotions. He wants to hang onto this Gerard, to never close his eyes because he’s afraid he’s going to wake up and this will all be a dream. But at the same time, he’s curious. He wants to know more about what he saw in the mirror and more about the Gerard he’s never met. 

He’s fighting sleep with a vengeance, but Gerard is playing dirty by rubbing his stomach and pressing the softest kisses ever against his forehead and soon he finds himself feeling heavy and falling back into his mind.

Except nothing happens. Because the next thing he knows, he’s squinting at the sunlight streaming into the van’s windows. Gerard is still asleep pressed up against him with his mouth hanging open and his hand warm against his stomach. 

Frank detangles himself and sits up on the seat to pull out a cigarette. He can’t find his lighter so he leans over and pats down Gerard until he finds a lighter in his hoodie pocket. He lights up then reaches over to roll down the window, pausing when he sees Mirror Gerard sitting faintly in the reflection of the glass. 

Frank tilts his head and whispers, “What do you want?”

“Huh?”

Frank snaps his head towards the voice and sees Ray looking at him with a concerned look on his face. “You ok, Frank? Feeling better?”

Frank looks back at the window but Mirror Gerard is gone, so he just ashes out the window and nods. “Sure.”

It takes them pulling up to a gas station with the promise of coffee to get Gerard to stir from their pile of blankets. He smiles sheepishly up at him and taps his nose. “You look better.”

Frank grins and leans in to kiss him. 

“No making out on the bus,” Otter mutters, opening the driver’s door. 

Gerard rolls his eyes and kisses Frank back before pushing lightly at his shoulder. “I really do want some coffee.”

“Shocker,” Frank drawls, but he gets up and files out of the van after Ray and Mikey, who are both battling it out for the wildest bedhead. Frank think’s Mikey wins because of all the hairspray. 

“Gotta pee,” Frank says when they make it inside. 

Gerard nods, still yawning, and shuffles to the coffee machine. 

Frank slips into the bathroom, glad it’s a one stall one, and locks the door before looking into the mirror. 

Gerard is still sitting there and Frank can feel the pressure back on his hand. _What the hell is going on?_

“I know you can hear me,” Gerard says softly, and Frank recognizes it as the tone of voice he uses when he’s trying not to cry. “Mikey told me I should read to you, but I think that’s sorta silly.”

Mikey?

“But, um,” Gerard sighs, “Let’s see...your mom was here. She keeps trying to make me eat and it’s sorta sweet even if it makes me crazy at the moment. And Mikey’s threatened to find the scariest nurse here to give me a sponge bath if I don’t go home and shower.”

He smiles a little sheepishly and Frank’s stomach flips because, fuck, that’s not fair. It’s not fair to know that in years down the line, Gerard will still have this pull on him. That he could take his breath away with a smile, could make him feel safe even when he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on and he’s so terrified. 

“I just don’t want to leave in case you wake up,” Gerard whispers like it’s a secret, “I mean, you shouldn’t be alone.”

Nurse. Wake up. His mom. 

Something is really fucked. And Frank’s been high plenty of times in his day. He’s had the weirdest spirals of thoughts, but nothing like this. He’s never managed to convince himself that he’s...what? In a hospital? In a coma, that this is all just in his head?

He’s pretty sure the room starts spinning and he thinks he’s going to throw up and then pass out in his filth because what the actual fuck? This isn’t happening. He’s just still dreaming. He’s going to wake up in the van and he’ll laugh about it with Mikey, and Mikey will tell him that’s what he gets for taking shrooms from a stranger at a party. That’s all this is. 

But when he looks at Gerard in the mirror, he knows better. Because it’s the same feeling he gets when he sees Gerard on stage, flailing around with his voice dripping in anguish. The same feeling he has when he’s laying back in someone’s yard a couple beers deep and he looks over at Gerard and sees that small, crooked smile lazily spread on his face. The same as when he manages to coax Gerard into a shower and trade watery kisses for lazy swipes of soap across sensitive skin. He knows this is real because he knows that nothing and no one could ever make him feel as irrevocably in love as Gerard. 

And then Frank sinks to his knees because Gerard’s pretty expressive eyes glisten, then flood over, dropping clear steaks down his pink cheeks and greying beard. He laughs softly, bitterly, and like a man who has had the world then had to give it back, “‘You’re not in this alone’, right?”

“Right,” Frank whispers. 

“Frankie?” The door jiggles, then Gerard knocks, “Baby?”

Frank rubs at his eyes and sniffles before opening the door. Gerard frowns at him and wipes at a stray tear that must be trying to hang onto his cheek. “Let’s get you a ginger ale or something,” he says softly. 

Frank nods numbly and makes his jelly legs take him out of the bathroom, with one more longing look towards the mirror. He lets Gerard buy him ginger ale and some saltine crackers, but Frank shakes his head when Gerard’s hand hovers over some Pepto Bismol. 

“I’ll be alright,” Frank promises, vowing that he’ll pull himself together.

Which is a bit hard to do when he has nothing to distract himself but soda and crackers while he’s sitting in the van. The guys won’t let him drive, still convinced he’s ill. And he knows it’s bad when they’ve agreed to let Mikey drive for a short leg of the trip to Philly. It’s not that Mikey is an awful driver, he just gets distracted easily. Usually Ray or Gerard, sometimes Frank too--though he’s not much better, will sit up with him to remind him to keep his eyes on the road and not on the stereo.

“Come here,” Gerard whispers, pulling Frank’s head down into his lap.

Frank smiles and lets his eyes drift shut so that he can focus on the way Gerard is weaving his fingers through his hair. He zeros in on the way his nails scratch gently at his scalp then brush through his hair again. And this can’t be fake. This feels too real.

He knows what dreams feel like. They always seem real until Frank pays closer attention, then it’s like everything is a little wavy. Almost like he’s looking from above the surface of a pool. And everything is just short of sensational. It’s almost like he’s telling himself he’s experiencing things instead of actually experiencing them. 

This isn’t like that. He can feel Gerard’s fingers in his hair and the solidness of Gerard’s thigh under his cheek. He can hear the way Mikey is taping lightly against the steering wheel to the beat of the song that’s playing. He can smell the tang of Ray’s sour onion chips mixed with Otter’s heavy application of axe body spray. 

But the image of an older Gerard crying is seared into his mind and he knows that’s real too. 

And before he gets to make sense on how both of those realities can be true, sleep is claiming him again. 

*

“--think he should sleep it off.”

“But--”

“--Brian will understand.”

Frank peels open his eyes and sees four pairs of eyes looking back at him and he can’t help but chuckle a little. “Morning.”

“How are you feeling?” Ray asks, concern coloring his voice thickly and Frank sees him trying to keep himself from reaching out. 

He must not be keeping this under wraps too well if they’re all freaking out. Frank’s been sick before and they've always just powered through it. But they can tell that something is different with him this time, and fuck does he love these guys. 

Frank sits up and pats around him for his pack of cigarettes. Gerard smiles gently and takes one from his own pack and puts it up to Frank’s lips. 

“Thanks,” he whispers, taking it and letting Gerard light it for him before taking a drag and saying, “I’m fine.”

He exhales smoke and watches them all harden their expressions. Alright, Frank thinks, he’s got to tell them something. 

“I, uh…” Frank starts, because what is he supposed to tell them? That he’s been seeing an older Gerard in reflective surfaces and he’s pretty sure he’s in a coma or something. “I’ve been feeling off lately.”

“No shit,” Otter says, rolling his eyes. 

Mikey pinches his eyebrows together and then looks over at Gerard. Gerard sighs and then Mikey shakes his head, causing Gerard to sigh louder, then say, “Off like ‘head off’ or ‘body off’?”

And Frank knows what he’s getting at. They’ve all had their share of the blues, and some cases where it turns into Gerard having to call a pharmacy to get his medication refilled. Frank’s had bouts of homesickness or anxiety filled nights where the bigger questions in his brain wouldn’t let him sleep. And even though he knows that whatever is going on with him is much bigger than that, he nods and says, “Head.”

It’s like the four of them take a collective deep breath and then Ray loses his battle with touching him and pulls him into a hug. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Frank doesn’t reply, doesn’t really think he needs to. And he’s not really one to turn down hugs when they’re being given out. “I just need some time to readjust,” Frank manages to say against Ray’s squeezing arms.

“Take all the time you need.”

And for the most part they all respect that. He can’t help but notice that Mikey is playing more Bouncing Souls than usual on the stereo or that Otter gave him the last Oreo in his pack. Gerard tries not to be clingy, but Frank can tell it’s eating at him so he crawls into Gerard’s lap on the final hour of their drive. Gerard lets out a breath it seems like he’s been holding and hugs him tight until they’re pulling up to the venue. 

Frank avoids any reflective surfaces while they unload then start handing out cans of beer. He’s a few in before the doors open and they have to start thinking about getting ready, but Gerard is being a handsy drunk again and pulls him into the stairwell. 

“Hey,” Frank giggles when he feels Gerard’s hands trying to make their way down his pants. He’s clearly forgotten about Frank’s belt though, opting to just squeeze his hand between the tight space. 

“Hay is for horses,” Gerard grins, pulling Frank into a beer flavored kiss. They’re some of his favorites. He loves the way it means that Gerard is going to kiss sloppy, his body will be loose and easy to move, how he’ll giggle between kisses like they’re a bunch of teenagers. And it also means that he gives fuck all about getting on stage on time, losing track of time in their enveloped world in the cemented chasm of the bar.

And it’s wild to think about. That they could really be anywhere right now. That time and place doesn’t really matter in these moments. All that Frank cares about is Gerard realizing he has to take Frank’s belt off and then sinking to his knees in front of him. Frank reaches down and runs his thumb across Gerard’s kiss bitten lips. Gerard looks up at him through his thick lashes and takes Frank’s thumb in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip. 

Frank’s body wants to sag against the wall under the intensity, but he forces himself to stay where he is so he can watch as Gerard pulls Frank’s jeans just far enough down to release him from denim and thin cotton. And then Gerard pulls off Frank’s thumb and licks the length of Frank’s cock. 

Frank bites down on his lip to keep from making a sound, because he knows how that gets Gerard off. The idea that they have to be quiet or they’ll be found. That they have to be quick about this, but Gerard wants to take his time to taste and tease. 

He tangles his fingers into Gerard’s hair and his eyes roll back in his head when he feels Gerard take him in his mouth and swallow. The first time they did this, Frank thinks they were at some Eyeball party that Mikey dragged them too. He was just a fan at the time and he was really trying to not think about how he was getting blown by the lead singer of his favorite band. He could laugh just thinking about the way he had prayed to God and anything else in the cosmos for him not to blow his load too early so that he could live in that moment forever. 

It’s still just as vivid in his mind one second then a blur in another. And it makes Frank wonder what time really is. If it’s just a loop that he gets to keep circling though, living through cherished moments then falling into the future for a split second before he’s back to some other place in time. It makes Frank dizzy with it, the idea that he could be here, but in a hospital bed at the same time. That he’s dying at the same moment his body has never felt more alive. 

He tugs on Gerard’s hair in silent warning, and then he feels Gerard pull back far enough to keep only the tip in his mouth before Frank is coming so hard he thinks he’s going to be blind from it. He looks down and takes in Gerard’s blown out pupils, his flushed cheeks and slick red lips. He thinks that he’ll never see Gerard more beautiful than right here, right now, but he knows that’s not the case. Knows that Gerard is always going to be the most beautiful thing to him. That he’s _seen_ what he’s going to look like, and he’s, fuck.

“C’mere,” Frank whispers brokenly, and sinks to his knees to climb over Gerard. 

Gerard meets him for a feverish kiss, letting Frank suck the salty taste of himself off Gerard’s tongue. He reaches down then laughs a little when he finds Gerard sticky and soft. “Couldn’t wait?”

Gerard holds up his hand and Frank gives him a wicked smile before taking his come coated fingers into his mouth, slurping obscenely. 

The door to the stairwell opens and then he hears, “Jesus fuck, I need to get better at ‘rock, paper, scissors’,” Otter mutters, “We’re up.”

Gerard giggles when the door shuts and then it's a tangle of limbs, last minute kisses, and buttons fastening before they’re stumbling up the stairs and towards the stage. Frank keeps his eyes away from Mikey as he slips on his guitar and watches Gerard roar at the crowd. 

Frank’s been in bands since he knew how to play guitar, but it’s never been like this. This feels right, safe--like he’s up there baring his soul but he’s got a family to stand with. Because every other band he’s been in, he was the lead. He was the one calling the shots and writing the music, was the one pulling the band like it was a heavy weight behind him. But this, My Chem was like...not even a band really, it wasn’t like anything he’s ever been a part of. 

Maybe it’s because Gerard’s always talking about the band like it’s still an idea and Frank wants to tell him that it’s actually happening, but he wonders if that’ll spoil the magic. There’s times where he’ll see Gerard staring off in another part of his mind, thinking about fantasies and how he’ll weave that into their reality. Times where Frank wants to shake him and tell him to take it all in, to remember this moment in time because this is important. But then he sees him on stage, like he is now, and he’s such a fucking force. He’s something Frank doesn’t understand how it can be held down into a body, and maybe that’s what makes his stage presence so enthralling--it’s like the real Gerard is trying to break free of its fleshy prison. Like it’ll break free and wash over them all and they’ll suddenly get it. They’ll understand the magic that Gerard sees in the world. 

And Frank thinks he should probably stop drinking so much before shows if he’s going to get all emotional and philosophical. 

*

Around the middle of a tour, they pull their money together to get a hotel night. Because at this point the only person who doesn’t mind that he hasn’t showered in weeks is Gerard. They usually get two rooms and everyone draws straws on who has to room with Frank and Gerard, even though they totally don’t have sex when another person is in the room. 

Well, there was that _one_ time. And they had been quiet, sorta. 

But mostly Frank just wants to stand under hot water and wash away all the grim of the road. He takes his time washing and conditioning his hair, sometimes going through the process twice before moving on to washing the spilt beer and body fluids off his skin. He waits until the water is threatening to get cold before getting out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. 

Gerard is still sitting in the mirror and Frank is starting to get worried about him. His eyes look like they’re going to drop down his face from the heavy bags pulling at them and his rosy cheeks have paled. Frank wonders how time works over there, how long he’s been under. 

Gerard wipes at his face and looks far off, like he’s still living in a fantasy world and Frank wonders what he dreams of now. What the band is doing now and how the rest of the guys are doing. Frank frowns a bit when he sees a wedding ring glistening on his finger. Wonders if it’s for him or someone else. 

“I wish you could hear me,” Frank whispers, staring at Gerard. 

“Ray had to get back home for the kids,” Gerard says, clearing his throat and he feels his hand squeeze, “He’s going to be back this weekend though I think. And Mikey’s still here. I think he’s coming up around dinner time tonight. He’s bringing some comics.”

Frank smiles at that and takes his toothbrush out of his toiletry bag, listening to Gerard tell him more about this other life he’s supposed to be living. He pauses with his toothbrush under the running water. Maybe he’s supposed to be trying to find a way to wake up or whatever. 

He watches Gerard lean over, and he can see the small freckle on the tip of his nose, sees the little threads of silver in his eyebrow and Frank wants that. It punches him in the gut how much he wants that. Wants to have so many memories that he’s grey with it, wants to have memories and grey hair together. 

But he can hear the younger Gerard singing on the other side of the bathroom door, some sort of jazzy number from one of his grandmother’s musicals. He can imagine him unpacking his sketchbook and finding the perfect position on the bed to settle in for hours while he escapes into ink filled worlds that Frank’s only gotten glimpses of. He hesitates in the middle of the bathroom, wondering which Gerard he’s supposed to return to. Both are waiting for him. 

Frank walks back to the sink and runs his toothbrush over his teeth while he watches Gerard smile at Frank, feels soft fingertips against his cheeks and nose. Hears him whisper, “I’m waiting. I’ll always be here waiting.”

So Frank rinses out his mouth and closes his eyes, feeling the calloused fingers on his skin before telling him, “I’ll be right back,” and opening his eyes to return to the Gerard waiting for him in the hotel bedroom. 

Gerard looks up from his sketchbook and smiles. “Hey,” he says, reaching out for him. 

Frank climbs on the bed, shooting a look at the empty bed to their left. 

“Ray’s out with the guys getting food,” Gerard explains, “I told him to bring you back something warm.”

Frank smiles. “I feel fine.”

Gerard just hums and sets his book aside so Frank can crawl into his lap. Frank kisses him slow and dirty, but he can tell it’s not going anywhere and that’s perfectly fine. He likes these make out sessions where he can just focus on the kissing, without worrying about moving them along to the main event. He likes to take his time to run his tongue over Gerard’s small and pointy teeth, likes to tickle the roof of his mouth with it and then capture his laughter in his mouth for safe keeping. He gets lost in how they mold together so perfectly, like they were made for each other and it’s got Frank thinking about time and space again. 

How everything had to have lined up perfectly for them to meet, for Frank to be there for that first show. To see what an absolute trainwreck it was and see the fucking potential in them. Because he could. The moment Gerard opened his mouth he knew that it was over for him, that he would follow this man to the edges of the Earth and back again. That he would always be coming back to him, regardless of where and when that was. He would always come back. 

“What do you think about time?” Frank asks.

Gerard huffs a laugh and nips at his bottom lip. “What do you mean?”

Frank leans back and looks at him. “Like, do you think we can go back and relive moments?”

“Like time travel?”

Frank shakes his head, “More like time isn’t linear and things can get jumbled up. Like I could be here with you one moment, then in the future in the next.”

Gerard considers him for a moment, and Frank wonders if he said something too weird for even Gerard Way. But he smiles softly and shrugs, “I think you’re wherever you’re supposed to be.”

*

Frank knows he’s dreaming, but it’s still wonky and not dreamlike enough for him to know it’s fake. Like it’s an in between sort of feeling. Not quite Gerard running his fingers through his hair or him smiling shyly through a mirror, but the Gerard in front of him is still real enough for Frank to hold his breath. 

Because something is fucked up.

Gerard is leaning over a trash can throwing up, which wouldn’t be a big deal since they’ve all seen Gerard have one too many, but he sounds like he’s dying. Mikey leans into Frank and hides his face against his shoulder. Frank reactively puts his arm around him because whenever Gerard can’t be Mikey’s big brother, Frank takes over the job. Ray is off to the side on the phone and Frank doesn’t understand why no one will touch Gerard. 

It’s like he’s already dead and they’re afraid to move the body.

He’s about to say something, demand that they get him help but things are blurring together and then morphing into different shapes before he’s standing on a stage bigger than his first studio apartment. He feels like he’s going to go blind under the stage lights, that he’s suffocating under this ridiculous jacket he’s wearing. But then he looks up and sees that everyone else on stage has the same jacket and...who the fuck is that behind the drum kit?

There’s a burst of fire that heats his face before he sees it light up the crowd and he almost shits his pants at how many people are out there. And the longer he looks, the further back he sees rows of cellphone lights and faces. He’s playing to songs he’s never heard but they’re fucking _good_ and he grins when he sees Gerard walk over to him, hips swaying and mischief in his eyes. It throws him for a moment, because what the fuck did he do to his hair? But of course it looks good, Gerard could pull off anything. 

Gerard runs his finger down Frank’s chest, and it’s such a small touch but Frank feels ignited by it. 

And then his world shifts again and he’s being shoved but he doesn’t know why. Doesn’t understand if this is some stage thing they’re doing, but the look on Gerard’s face looks anything but playful. It fucking hurts almost and Frank wants to tell him to stop, but Gerard shoves at him again. Frank hangs on because, _oh this is a fight_. 

What did he do? Why is Gerard looking at him like he never wants to see him again? Why does this hurt so fucking--

“Frankie, wake up,” he hears.

_“Wake up”_

There’s two voices, but they’re from the same person and Frank opens his eyes. 

Gerard is frowning down at him with Ray over his shoulder. 

“Jesus,” Gerard whispers, shoulders sagging. 

“Must have been some dream,” Ray says softly, still eyeing him. 

The dreams don’t let up throughout the tour. Everytime Frank shuts his eyes, he’s drifting through various times and places. And the longer this keeps happening, the more he’s starting to feel like he’s lived through all these moments before. Like he clearly remembers sitting in a desert with Gerard next to him as they watch Mikey practice karate moves. He knows he’s rinsed out red from Gerard’s hair with a grin and a whispered, “this is crazy”. And there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he watches Gerard stare at a fading Mikey Way, that he’s going to leave them all in this haunted house or it’ll claim him as another ghost. 

“Do you ever think your dreams might be memories?” Frank asks. 

Mikey smirks and takes another sip of beer. “Yeah, I’ve had dreams about things that’ve happened. I don’t think that’s too weird.”

Frank shakes his head. “No, but they haven’t really happened yet”

Mikey takes Frank’s beer out of his hand and sniffs it. “You’ve had like two of these, what else did you take?”

“I’m not high,” Frank grins, then scratches his head and takes his beer back, “I think this isn’t real. I’m in a coma and this is all in my head.”

Mikey takes Frank’s beer again and sets it on the other side of him so it’s out of Frank’s reach. “Seriously, what did you take?”

“Mikes, I’m serious,” Frank bites out, “I keep seeing shit.”

Mikey quirks up an eyebrow, and yeah, maybe this would have been a better conversation for Gerard but he knows that Mikey won’t get all emotional about it. “Seeing what?”

“Gerard,” Frank says, “But older and he keeps telling me to wake up.”

“Fuck, what the fuck, Frank?” Mikey breathes, “Please tell me you’re not having a psychotic break.”

“I’m not,” Frank swears, at least he hopes he’s not, “I think that this already happened or something. Or some form of it, that I’m just living in this memory.”

“But you’re having memories in your dreams,” Mikey points out.

“Yeah,” Frank nods, “So maybe I’m making this up? But why would I?”

Mikey pauses, staring out into the parking lot they’re sitting in while they wait for the guys to come out of the diner with their take out. “To protect yourself,” he answers, and Frank’s glad that Mikey is playing along even if he doesn’t believe it, “If you’re in a coma, right?”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t I have made up a world where we’re rich and famous instead of piling up in a van with you losers,” Frank grins. 

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Well maybe this was the time you were your most happiest.”

And Frank’s starting to think that the world is just playing a cruel joke on him because the next time he looks into the mirror, Mikey is sitting there instead of Gerard and Frank laughs at the stupid Dodgers hat he has on. But he looks good and Frank feels this swell of pride in his heart. 

“I sent Gee home to shower and sleep in an actual bed,” Mikey says, “But he’ll probably be back within the hour. He’s being pretty stubborn.”

Frank smiles. “Some things never change I guess.”

Mikey crosses his arms and frowns.”He’s beating himself up about all of this,” he says softly, “It wasn’t like he was the one who hit you, but he thinks maybe...I don’t know, that he should have told you to wear a helmet or whatever. He’s fucking stupid.”

Frank hums, helmet? Is he a fucking biker in the future? 

“Wait, are we talking motorcycle or bicycle?” Frank asks, though he knows he won’t get an answer. 

“Catholic, you know,” Mikey chuckles bitterly, “He’s always going to hang on to guilt even when he doesn’t need to.”

Frank nods.

“You know,” Mikey says, “You of all people know that. I know it took a long time for you to get him to realize the band ending wasn’t his fault.”

Frank finds himself sitting on the floor, because _what_? When does the band end? Why?

Mikey reaches out and Frank feels Mikey taking his hand. “I need you to pull through for my brother,” he pleads, “Because I’m not sure what life is going to look like without you in it.”

He avoids mirrors for a long time after that, not wanting to be pulled back to that world if My Chem doesn’t exist in it. Instead, he stays present in the world he _is_ in. In the world where he’s with his best friends everyday.

He presses his fingers hard into his guitar strings, enough to cut open his fingers and feel the pain as he plays. Enough to prove to himself that this is real too. This. These moments with Gerard in stairwells or with Mikey in parking lots. The moments in the van where Otter argues for the sake of arguing and Ray is rushing them to their next venue. Where they throw pickles at each other in diners and laugh so hard soda comes out their noses. 

This is real enough for Frank, and even if it’s not, he doesn’t want to leave it.

*

Frank trails kisses down Gerard’s stomach grinning when he laughs at Frank dipping his tongue into his belly button. 

They’re parked outside one of the last venues of the tour, and Frank’s both excited and dreading going back to Jersey. He loves playing every night, but he wouldn’t mind an actual bed to do this in. Wouldn’t mind seeing Gerard flushed against his sheets. 

He slips his hand down his stomach, pausing when it quivers under his touch before moving further south. He grins against his skin as he pauses just above his waistline. He loves testing Gerard, seeing how long he can hold out before he’s clawing at Frank and demanding that he gets on with it.

He rocks his chin on his stomach and looks up at him, at the mess of sweaty outgrown black hair and abused red lips from frantic kisses. He never wants to leave this. He pulls himself up onto his hands and knees and looks down at Gerard, lets the puffs of ragged breaths hit his face. Everything about this is living to Frank. The tackiness of saliva drying on the corner of his mouth, the smell of coffee and cigarettes filling his nose, the rub of the car seat against his bare calves. He tastes lingering nicotine and gas station candy on his tongue, can feel Gerard’s heartbeat under his hand and the way his own heart is striving to match his, always trying to keep up, to stay with Gerard and follow him or stay, wherever he is. 

He leans down to kiss him, but Gerard rolls him over and grins wickedly at him. Apparently he’s waited as long as he can and Frank grins up at him, loving his passion. The energy he puts into everything he creates and loves. Frank feels loved by Gerard. And even though there’s been no declarations, no words deeper than “stay”, he knows that he’s never been made to feel like this. 

He arches up to catch the kiss Gerard is giving, but all he feels is air. 

He frowns and opens his eyes and is met with an empty van. Then there’s this roaring in his ears, like what the inside of a seashell is supposed to sound like.

“Clear!” He hears and before he can ask what the hell is going on, there’s white hot pain on his chest and he feels himself arch up off the seat of the car, air escaping him momentarily only to come crashing back into him as he falls back to the seat. 

No. Not car seat, hospital bed. And he sees the white walls, the tv on some TV Land rerun and then Gerard. And he looks so clear this way, without any mirror. Frank wants to reach out and touch his fucking beard and he knows how insane that must sound, but it’s the first thing that pops into his mind. Gerard’s leaking eyes meet his and the hand that was covering his mouth drops. “Frank?”

He tries to answer, to tell him _yes, I’m here_ but the words won’t come out and a haziness fills his eyes again. He hears a steady beat in his ears before the white hospital walls darken to the inside of the van and he’s back against the seat of the car with Gerard over him again.

Frank pushes at Gerard so he can rush out of the van, fall onto the pavement, and empty the contents of his stomach.

“Ok, ok, shh,” Gerard murmurs softly, stroking his hair, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Frank doesn’t have it in him to fight, to tell him that he’s alright and that Gerard shouldn’t worry. Because there’s something seriously wrong. He’s dying, he almost died. He knows it, can feel the cold lingering touch of death around his heart. 

*

Frank has his fingers tangled in fire engine red hair, pulling slightly and grinning at the crooked smile that meets him.  
He knows that something is wrong, but he’s not sure why. Because this is Gerard, his Gerard, but there’s some sickening twist in his stomach that’s telling him this Gerard isn’t his at all. 

Gerard reaches out and cups his cheek, something he’s done so many times, but it feels different. Desperate, rushed, like they don’t have enough time. Like they’re hiding. And then he feels the cool bite of metal against his skin. He moves back and takes Gerard’s hand, staring down at the ring. 

Gerard catches his eye and frowns. “Frank…”

“You’re married,” Frank whispers, feeling like he’s going to throw up. 

It’s just a dream, Frank knows. But he also knows that dreams aren’t ‘just’ anything anymore, that they’re memories. That this really happened and that the Gerard he’s seen glued to his side in the hospital isn’t even his. 

“Hasn’t been an issue before,” Gerard says, trying to sound playful but Frank can hear the brokenness in it. Like he doesn’t know how they got here either and Frank wants to understand. Needs to figure out what the hell happened between where he was with Gerard in the stairwell and where he ends up in a hospital bed with a married Gerard. 

But Gerard kisses him and it feels the same. Feels like everything has clicked into place again and he _knows_ , he fucking knows the same way he knows he needs to breathe that he’s supposed to be with Gerard. That this isn’t right, and maybe if he just stays where he is with Gerard he can live the happily ever after they’re supposed to have.

Frank kisses him back, pulls him in closer like he can devour him, keep Gerard with him forever where he can wake up every morning with his stupid bony knees pressed against his back. Where all their bathroom towels are stained with his hair dye and the bathroom is cluttered with cosmetics scattered across the vanity. He wants all their mugs to have rings of coffee stains in them, to have their house to smell perpetually like cigarette smoke. 

Gerard presses him against the mattress and Frank pulls at the belt loops of his pants, grinning at how tight they are. It’s such a mindfuck to have this Gerard feel so different in his hands, but be so similar at the same time. Like how he still wears girl’s jeans or how he hasn’t changed the scent of his deodorant since he was in his twenties. He still tastes the same and he can bet that he smokes the same trashy cigarettes even though he knows they’ve made it big. Loves that he still has marker stains on his fingertips and that his eyes are circled in soft glitter.

“Love you,” Gerard whispers, and Frank feels his heart lurch because it’s the first time he’s heard it and it’s coming out of his mouth that’s been kissed by another person. That has spoken vows that aren’t meant for him. 

But he’s Frank, so he says, “I love you too,” because he’s never been able to lie to Gerard. Not about things that matter. 

Gerard undresses Frank slowly, all urgency that Frank had sensed gone. He takes his time to watch the fabric slide from Frank’s skin then kiss at tattoos that Frank didn’t even know he had. Frank can’t help it, but he smiles because even under the tension he feels between them, this is effortless. Even with the ring that’s pressed against Frank’s skin, loving Gerard has always been effortless.

Frank needs Gerard’s help to get him out of his tight jeans and then he laughs a little to himself when he finds out that Gerard isn’t wearing any underwear. Gerard grins a little smugly then closes his eyes and hums softly when Frank wraps his hand around his cock, palming at the head and kissing the corner of his mouth. 

Nothing’s changed. 

He knows Gerard more than anyone. _Anyone_ , he thinks bitterly when his eyes meet the ring again. He knows it’s childish, but he takes Gerard’s hand and removes the ring, tossing it in the nightstand drawer and shutting it loudly. Gerard looks haunted for a moment, but then he looks at him like the same scared kid that opened his mouth to sing with his band for the first time in that musky VFW hall. 

Frank meets his kiss with his own desperate one, losing himself in the taste that he’ll never forget. The feeling of their skin pressed together, how his hands feel so strong even when he knows he’s falling apart, that they can keep each other together if they just pretend that everything is going to be alright. 

Frank’s going to be alright if he just keeps pretending that the life he has with Gerard in the back of a grimy van is real and not all in his head. That the mirrors don’t mean anything and the Gerard in them is still his. That the band never broke up and Ray is still their best friend they see everyday. That they all haven’t grown up or apart. 

That Frank isn’t dying. 

*

Frank didn’t think things could get any weirder, but of course they do.

He’s talking to Ray when he notices it. Ray is all smiles and warmth, usually the one that keeps Frank grounded when he feels unhinged. He’s thought of him as a mentor almost, that he should learn the same discipline when it comes to practicing guitar. But he’s never shaken Frank up, has always been a source of grounding safety. 

Until Frank is sitting in the passenger seat as Ray drives, talking about Metallica and how “Enter the Sandman” was such a revolutionary song since it was on all the radio stations despite it being a metal song, and Frank starts to be able to see _through_ him. Ray doesn’t disappear really, but he gets all fuzzy around the edges and transparent. 

“What’s wrong?” Ray asks when he notices Frank’s expression. 

Frank shakes his head and looks out the window, catching an older Gerard in the side view mirror. He looks like death, like he’s about to end up on the hospital bed next to Frank. 

And he knows that he’s going to have to get back. 

It’s just, he knows it’s fucking stupid, but he doesn’t really want to leave. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to being young and reckless, to playing on shitty stages with his friends, to being at the beginning of in love with Gerard. He doesn’t know what the future holds, and maybe he’s a fucking coward, but he doesn’t want to wake up and find out that everything has changed. The glimpses he’s had aren’t anything he wants to have lived through.

Here is safe. 

Here he is with Gerard and he has the band. 

It’s their last show of the tour tonight, and something about that seems poetic. That all of this is coming to a head right at the end. Gerard shoots him an odd look when Frank gets out of the car and he knows he’s not hiding his fear well. He feels like he’s going to throw up and he knows it has nothing to do with his stupid immune system. 

“Last show,” Gerard says gently, “Then we can go home.”

Frank forces a smile and picks up his guitar case and an amp from the van before following Ray towards the venue. It’s muscle memory to set up, they’ve done this so many times at this point, but it feels like he has to push himself just to do small tasks. Like his mind doesn’t want to connect to his body and he’s pretty sure it has something to do with what’s going on in the hospital. 

They have some time before the doors open and Gerard pulls on his hand to take him to the van or a stairwell or wherever he can get Frank alone so that he can take his mind off things. But Frank can’t even feel Gerard’s hand wrapping around his hand. “Wait,” Frank whispers, taking his hand back. 

Gerard looks at him like he’s been burned, but he just nods. “Yeah, ok,” he says softly, “Frankie…”

“There’s something wrong with me,” Frank whispers sadly and he covers his eyes with his hands. 

Gerard reaches for him but then stops when Frank flinches because he doesn’t think he can handle being touched by him if he can’t _feel_ him. Gerard just pulls out a chair at a table near where they’ve set up and tells him to sit. 

Frank does only because it seems like an easy task for him to follow, to do something without having to think. He drops his hand and watches Gerard go to the bar, smiling a little when he sees him turn with two shot glasses in his hand. He tucks a couple of beers under his arm and comes back with a smirk. 

“God I love you,” Frank says, not thinking clearly. Of course, not thinking clearly because he hasn’t told Gerard that yet. 

Gerard freezes and smiles that tiny crooked smile that makes Frank stupidly believe everything is going to be alright. He hands him the shot and a beer, then leans down to kiss him. “Love you too,” he whispers, and even if Frank can’t feel the kiss, the words go straight to his heart.

“Last show,” Ray grins coming over with a beer and then he winces, “Did I interrupt something?”

Frank snorts and shakes his head, because he doesn’t know what the future is like for him and Ray and he wants to soak up these last moments he has guaranteed. And then Mikey comes over with Otter and they’re all drinking and smoking. Trading stories of the road and what they’re going to do when they get home. How Ray is going to take a week long shower and Mikey is going to never leave his bed again. Gerard laughs along, but he doesn’t say much, just keeps an eye on Frank like he knows something is going on. 

And when they take the stage, when Frank hits that first note and hears the first word escape Gerard’s mouth, he feels at home. He feels like no matter what happens next, no one is going to be able to take this from him. This family. These memories, and maybe that’s really all time is. A scrapbook of memories to flip through when things get hard. A collection of proof that he’s lived through imaginable pain, like losing Gerard, but he’s still fighting. He’s still laying in that hospital bed instead of slipping away. He’s still willing to wake up, is going to wake up. 

He just needs one more night. Just one more song. One more glimpse of Ray playing guitar like it’s another extension of his life, of Mikey holding steady even when he’s terrified, of Gerard singing like he’s pulling out the demons from him and everyone else in this room--like he already knows this band is going to save lives one day. Like he knows that this band saved Frank’s life and will keep doing so, even after he’s strummed the last note on a stage with them.

“Hey,” Gerard asks after the show, raising an eyebrow, “Where are you going?”

Frank swallows thickly and hands Gerard his guitar case, trying to ignore how his hands feel like they’re about to go through it or how he can see Mikey through Gerard. Gerard takes the case with a confused expression and is about to ask the same question, but Frank swallows the words with a kiss. “Gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” Frank says, then pulls back to search his eyes. He squeezes his hand and wishes he could feel him just this last time, “I’ll see you in just a minute.”

Gerard stares at him, like he knows. And maybe he does, because he smiles a little brokenly and says, “I’ll always be here waiting.”

He turns to walk away, because if he doesn’t do it now, he knows he’ll just get back into that van with them and he won’t leave until everything fades away. 

The bathroom is empty, and he laughs a little at himself for not realizing this was a fake world all along. Venue bathrooms are never empty. 

But Gerard is waiting for him, in the mirror with his eyes closed and hunched in his seat. Frank thinks he almost looks peaceful, but there’s still a little cease of worry between his brows. He takes a deep breath and reaches out to smooth over it, not that surprised when his fingers don’t touch cold glass. 

Gerard jumps and his eyes fly open. “Frankie?”

He feels like he’s just woke up from a twenty year nap. It hits him all at once, the weakness and the heaviness on his limbs. His hand is still stretched out to Gerard, but Gerard takes it and presses a kiss to his hand. “Frankie,” he whispers softly, then he laughs a little, but it’s wet with tears, “Fucker.”

Frank snorts and sinks back into his pillow, letting his eyes adjust to the fact that he’s laying in a hospital room and not standing in a venue bathroom anymore. That it smells sterile and clean instead of piss and beer. 

“I should get a nurse,” Gerard says, starting to stand up. 

“Wait,” Frank croaks, then starts coughing. 

Gerard frowns and grabs a water bottle, opening it and pressing it to his lips. Frank lets him help him take small sips then says, “Wait.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gerard promises, stroking his hair and Frank smiles a little because it feels like he’s in the van again. “Where’d you go?”

“What do you mean?”

Gerard grins. “You would talk every now and then. Mikey and I kept trying to figure out what you were dreaming about, but it didn’t make any sense.”

Frank hums and closes his eyes, can see the young Gerard he fell in love with behind his lids. “I was with you,” Frank tells him. Then when Gerard doesn’t say anything, he opens his eyes. “At the beginning.”

Gerard’s expression softens and he presses a kiss to his forehead. “God, I was so scared you wouldn’t come back.”

“I didn’t want to,” Frank admits, reaching up to cling to Gerard’s green jacket, “I didn’t want to leave where I was. Where I still had you and the band.”

He feels Gerard stiffen, and no, he doesn’t want this to fucking end yet. He doesn’t want Gerard to be reminded that he’s not supposed to be like this with Frank anymore, that Frank is awake now and he should go back to his spouse. He tries to hang on as Gerard pulls away, but he’s really weak and doesn’t really stand a chance. 

Gerard narrows his eyes. “I really think I should get a nurse now.”

“I just,” Frank starts then he looks at Gerard’s ring again and he can’t help his eyes from watering. Because it’s not fucking fair. He should have had more time, he should have fought harder for them. 

“Frankie,” Gerard says slowly, reaching out to take Frank’s hand and twisting a metal band around Frank’s own finger. Something he hadn’t noticed yet. “Baby, let me get your doctor.”

Frank stares at the ring on his hand and nods. “Yeah, ok.”

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I love ambiguous endings, there will probably be a part two.


End file.
